


Beneath Street Lamps and Moonlight

by Festiveviolet31



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Illya and Gaby dance around their feelings, Romance, Self-Reflection, What's new with these two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-25 19:07:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12539080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Festiveviolet31/pseuds/Festiveviolet31
Summary: Gaby waits for Illya and does some reflecting in the process. Bonus fluff: Gaby hears Illya's nickname for her for the first time.





	Beneath Street Lamps and Moonlight

“You do not need to come,” Illya had said, and of course, Gaby had ignored him. She often ignored him, sometimes out of spite and rage and sometimes because Illya Kuryakin could act, in Gaby’s words, totally asinine.

  
“Don’t be ridiculous,” was all Gaby had said on the phone in response. It is because Gaby had ignored Illya, repeatedly, that she now finds herself on a London tube at an ungodly hour, racing toward the airport so she can be the first person to see her favorite Russian touch down in England.

  
Leaning her head against the glass window, she closes her eyes and thinks back to their last night in Istanbul, days before Illya and Napoleon had left to go back to their home countries. She’d been walking along the waterfront, taking solace from the tough, grimy, difficult work they’d done. Another man had been killed in front of her, mere feet away, on a mission. The ringing in her ears from Napoleon’s gunshot hadn’t faded, and she could still see the image of the assailant’s dark brown eyes as his life withered away in front of her.

  
“It is not safe for woman to be out by herself.”

  
Gaby heard his voice before she saw him as she rounded the corner, leaning against a street lamp. She stopped in her tracks, cocked a hip to one side, and looked up at Illya.

  
‘What, don’t think I can handle myself?” she asked through gritted teeth. She saw him smile slightly in spite of himself as he walked toward her.

  
“Of course I do not think this,” he’d said as he joined her, the two of them resuming the walk she’d started alone. They continued in silence for a time. Gaby felt his eyes on her every so often, but she said nothing.

  
“Does it get easier?” she finally asked. They stopped along a fence separating them from the river that split Istanbul down its center. She folded her hands and leaned against the fence, looking across the water that glowed beneath street lamps and moonlight.

  
“Does what get easier?”

  
She could feel Illya looking down at her now, could almost feel his blue eyes drilling holes in her skin. She bit the inside of her bottom lip as she struggled to find the words. “Killing people,” she’d finally said. She was fairly certain he could hear the exhaustion in her voice. Illya paused a moment before giving her his answer.

  
“Not easier. But you get used to the feeling.”

  
He’d stepped closer to her then, her shoulder against his arm, and there was no more space between them. She exhaled, loudly, and leaned her head against the side of his arm, the both of them looking out on the water. They had stayed like that until the city quieted around them and the air grew colder. Eventually, Illya had insisted on walking Gaby back to the hotel, taking her arm in his. She’d wondered for a moment if he was going to ask to come in once they reached her door, but he didn’t. She’d paused before inserting the key in the lock and turned to him. She looked up and into his eyes, and she wondered if he could see how tired she felt. Slowly, he reached up and placed his large, warm, worn hand against her cheek.

  
“Goodnight, little chop shop girl,” he’d said. She’d wondered about the nickname ever since.

She feels now as if she’s been waiting at the gate for hours. With her arms crossed over her chest, she taps her foot impatiently as she glances among the crowds for Illya. How hard is he to miss, she asks herself, wondering if she got his arrival time wrong.

  
As if she were in a play, Gaby glances up in time to see two large crowds disperse, and there he is, standing between them, and she can tell from the look in his eyes that he was searching for her too. She smiles, immediately relieved to see him, and walks over.

  
“I told you,” Illya says as Gaby approaches. “You did not need to come all this way.”

  
Gaby searches his face, taking in the sight of him she had missed these past few weeks. Glancing between his yellow hair, his brilliant eyes, and his brown bomber jacket, Gaby realizes that she is searching for anything that looks different between now and the last time she saw him.

  
“And what, leave you all alone to defend yourself in a foreign city?” she asks quietly, trying to be playful. She smirks up at him. They don’t say much as they leave the airport, Gaby jokingly grabbing his only bag and lugging it over her shoulder. They board the tube, the crowds minimal at this early hour of the morning, and she has so many questions for him. How the KGB let him go back, for starters, but also about his trip and his flight and what did he do in Russia for two and a half weeks and did he miss her? She doesn’t ask any, though, for once having nothing to say around her favorite Russian. For now, as the concrete and the occasional din of a lamp flash by her on the tube, she is content merely to sit with him, his worn leather jacket soft against her cheek.

**Author's Note:**

> Another fluffy one-shot for you! I'm working on a larger story and writing some one shots in the process to help me with these characters. I hope you enjoyed this!
> 
> (As a side note, if someone could help me out with formatting I'd appreciate it)


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